


Eternal

by AlmyranGold



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claude-centric, I'm Bad At Summaries, Light Angst, M/M, Spoilers for Claude Von Riegan's backstory, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), WE KNOW CLAUDE'S REAL NAME NOW BOYS, feat. some siblings I made up for Claude, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmyranGold/pseuds/AlmyranGold
Summary: Khalid had grown plenty used to the comments he got from Almyrans and Fodlanders alike.  It didn't bother him anymore.Or, five times Khalid's name was mocked, and one time it wasn't.(A 5+1 things fic)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 223





	Eternal

1.

“Hey! Give that back!”

The other boy laughed and held the bracelet up in the air. “What, this?” he asked.

Khalid huffed. “Yes, that. It’s mine. My mama gave it to me. Give it back, Fikri.”

“My mama gave it to me,” Fikri repeated, tone mocking. The other boys around him laughed. “That figures. It’s so girly. And Fodlan.”

“It was her mama’s. She gave it to me because she doesn’t have any daughters,” he said.

“It looks expensive, too. I bet the merchants that come into town tomorrow would love it.”

Khalid’s eyes widened. “Fikri, you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I would!” Fikri exclaimed. Khalid jumped up and tried to grab the bracelet back, but the taller boy held it too far above his head. “That is, unless you want to fight me for it.”

Khalid stopped jumping and looked Fikri up and down. “Fight you?” he said, unsure.

“Yeah, fight me. Unless you’re too Fodlan for that too.”

Khalid took stock of his options. His mama would be mad for sure if he told her he had lost it, especially for refusing to fight. But on the other hand, Fikri was almost three years older than him and close to a foot taller. Khalid didn’t see any way he could win.

“Please, Fikri. I just want my bracelet back,” he said.

“I told you you can have it back if you fight me. But I was right, you’re too Fodlan to fight me. Are you sure you’re really King Nasir’s son?”

“I am!” he stomped his foot, crossing his arms and glaring at Fikri. He hated when people said that.

“Then prove it and fight me!”

The two boys with Fikri cheered at that, egging them on. Khalid paused again, which was his fatal mistake.

“Fine, then,” Fikri said, putting the bracelet in his pocket. “I’m going to sell this tomorrow. I needed money for a new axe, anyways.”

“No!” Desperate, Khalid rushed forward and tried to pull the bracelet out of Fikri’s pocket. Fikri grabbed his arm and twisted it hard, causing Khalid to shout. Fikri quickly punched the younger boy in the stomach, and he doubled over in pain.

Fikri laughed, dangling the bracelet in front of Khalid as he clutched his side and willed the tears not to come. “Stupid, cowardly Khalid,” he taunted. “Have fun telling your mama about this.”

Khalid watched Fikri saunter off with his friends and silently cursed him.

-

2.

Dinnertime was always a rowdy affair in the Almyran castle.

Khalid and his three brothers all fought to be the first one served, despite the fact that there was plenty of food for all four of them. Khalid never won these matches, being the youngest, and considered himself pretty lucky when he wasn’t served last.

King Nasir always just laughed at his children’s antics, having already been served before the boys were called in. “Are you just gonna take that, Khalid?” he’d bellow as one of his brothers shoved him into the dirt to grab the first slice of mutton. 

It wasn’t that Khalid didn’t put up a fight. But even his youngest brother had four years on him, and an eight year old isn’t much match for a twelve year old. His two oldest brothers could bat him aside without much effort, and even his strongest punches were no match for their mediocre ones.

Queen Tiana always took meals with them, and Khalid sometimes wished that his mother would stick up for him. But she taunted him nearly as often as his father. “Get back up, Khalid, don’t let them treat you like that,” she’d call as he picked himself up off the floor.

Needless to say, dinner was not Khalid’s favorite meal.

Even after they’d all sat down with their food, his brothers liked to pick fights with each other, both verbal and physical. And occasionally, on nights like tonight, they decided they had a bone to pick with Queen Tiana.

“Is your hair curlier than usual?” asked Khalid’s youngest brother, Faris.

“It is,” the queen replied. “One of the merchants was selling curlers today, and I hadn’t used them in quite a while.”

“Seems pretty frivolous,” his eldest brother said as he took a sip of wine. Luay was only sixteen, but he was already significantly taller than Tiana and was able to look down at her as he said this.

The queen took it in stride, as usual. “Well, someone’s got to care about appearances here, and it sure as hell won’t be your father.”

King Nasir laughed his bellowing laugh. “That’s true.”

“I mean, yeah, queens are supposed to look good. But by Almyran standards, curling your hair means nothing. If you really wanted to look the part, you’d cut that mane off.” Luay grinned. Khalid wouldn’t realize until years later that Luay was taunting her. Most short-haired women in Almyra were prostitutes.

Tiana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t forget that for the time being, I can still kick your ass, boy.”

“Oooh, fight, fight, fight!” Rashad jeered, earning another laugh from his father.

“Let’s save the fighting for after dinner, eh? I’m sure Tiana would be happy to put Luay in his place then,” he said before stuffing more spinach into his mouth.

They didn’t end up fighting after dinner - Nasir and Tiana had business to attend to - which, unfortunately, meant that Luay’s energy was turned toward Khalid.

“Your mom’s actually pretty cool,” he said, looking at Khalid and picking up his training axe. “Shame you turned out like you did.”

“Oh, shove it, Luay” Khalid said as he aimed his bow. Just before he released the arrow, Rashad screamed and grabbed him from behind, causing Khalid to panic and fire almost a foot away from the target. Rashad laughed, and Khalid shoved him.

“Sometimes I think you’ve got more Fodlan than she does. At least she’s not afraid to pick a fight,” Luay continued, completely disregarding the interruption.

Khalid rolled his eyes as he went to grab his stray arrow. He heard this all the time. “I know how to fight,” he replied.

“Yeah, but you don’t.”

“I don’t pick fights I won’t win, no. I’m not stupid like you guys.”

“Call me stupid again, brat,” Rashad spat.

“You have to lose sometimes to get better. That’s why you suck, you don’t even wanna try. Just like a Fodlan.” Luay casually swung his axe as he spoke, taking the head off a straw dummy.

“Yeah! Your name shouldn’t be Khalid, it should be-” Faris paused as he tried to think of a good Fodlan name. “Karen!”

“Karen’s a girl’s name, dumbass,” Rashad said.

“All the more fitting, then,” Luay said, and both of his brothers laughed. Khalid tried to ignore them by stringing another arrow, pretending his ears weren’t turning red.

Unfortunately, the nickname “Karen” stuck around for a while after that, until Tiana overheard and came up with Fodlan names for the rest of them, calling Luay Loog and Rashad Ramone. His brothers mostly dropped it after that, not wanting Khalid to call them Fodlan names in return, but every now and then Luay would still mutter “Karen” under his breath. 

He got back at him by slipping a ground ghost pepper in his soup.

-

3.

Khalid liked visiting the merchants who came from Fodlan.

He usually went first thing in the morning while they were still setting up their stalls, not wanting his brothers or other kids from the village to see him talking with Fodlaners. They’d probably make fun of him, say he was finally talking with “his own people.” He just wanted to know more about the world outside his country. The merchants were always happy to oblige - although, not many people would turn down the king’s son, even if he was the runt.

Of course, they never got his name right.

“Khalead!” One of the merchants called as he approached the market. 

“It’s Khalid,” he said, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

“Sorry, I can never get it just right.”

Khalid just shrugged it off. He was used to it by now. By twelve years old, he’d heard all kinds of variations on his name. People called him Khalead or Hahlid or, in the case of one very insistent fish merchant, Khalaad. He had more important battles to fight than pronunciation.

“It’s okay. What did you bring today?” he asked.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff! I’ve got some really neat daggers, lots of bait, and some new teas - chamomile, Albenian berry, rose-petal…”

Khalid fingered the gold in his pocket. “Which of those do you like the most?”

“Chamomile’s my personal favorite.”

“Alright, give me one of those,” he said. 

The merchant gave him a package of the chamomile, which Khalid slipped into his pocket in place of the gold he’d handed over. The merchant smiled.

“I’m not really sure why you come to me. I’m sure you could get a servant to buy you tea, being the prince and all. Not that I’m complaining!”

“I like to meet new people,” he said, hopping up onto a nearby barrel as he spoke.

“Well, this is probably the best place in Almyra for that. I heard one of the merchants who just came in this week is actually from Dagda. If you think my Almyran’s bad, you should hear his.” He chuckled at his own comment. 

“I’m sure he’s doing his best. I doubt many people teach Almyran way over there,” Khalid reasoned.

“Not that many people teaching Almyran even in mainland Alliance territory, kiddo. Although I’m sure you don’t have that many people teaching Fodlan here, so.”

Khalid shrugged. “I don’t know about that. My mama taught me.”

The merchant raised his eyebrows. “Oh, that’s right. I always forget you’re the one with the Fodlan mom. You don’t look much like her.”

That was another comment he got from the Fodlan merchants. While other Almyrans pointed out how pale his skin was or how green his eyes were, people from Fodlan always thought him full-blooded Almyran.

“People say I don’t much look like my father either, so I’m not sure who I look like.”

“Well, definitely more him than her. Especially with a name like… Halid? Did I get it right that time?”

“Close enough. And yeah, my name’s Almyran because I’m Almyran.”

“Just saying. You’d think with your mother being from the Alliance, she’d give you a bit more normal name.”

“Khalid is normal.” He frowned and swung his feet impatiently. He was tired of this conversation, but most of the other merchants were too busy setting up to talk to him.

“No, no, no, I know it’s normal for you all. But I feel like it’d be hard for her to get used to. If she’d called you, I dunno, Augustine or something, then maybe you’d connect with her side of the family better.”

Yeah, and if he’d been named Augustine, he’d be harassed twice as much. And his mother hadn’t spoken to “her side of the family” for the better part of fourteen years. But Khalid just rolled his eyes and changed the subject.

“Where’s that Dagda merchant at? I wanna talk to her.”

“Over near the other produce vendors. But be careful - I’ve also been told her prices are steep.”

“Thanks for the tip, but I can manage myself.” Khalid slid down from the barrel and quickly walked away from the merchant. The chamomile tea rustled in his pocket, and he wondered if he should just stick to the teas they had in the castle.

-

4.

“So that’s where Tiana’s been, eh?”

If fifteen years of life had taught Khalid anything, it was when he was being sized up. And he certainly was now, standing in an intricately golden sitting room in his pale, ratty clothes, hair hanging in his eyes. He stared back at the man in front of him, hoping he felt like he was being sized up too.

Oswald von Riegan was a far more imposing figure than his five-foot-ten stature and sparse hair gave him any right to be. He circled Khalid like a shark, taking in all of his features with a look of disapproval. Khalid didn’t let it get to him, though. He stood tall enough to reach his full five-foot-six height, not wanting the gap to be any wider than it already was, but still managed to keep his posture relaxed, with his arms casually crossed and his legs apart to take up more room than necessary. It didn’t seem to be helping, though.

“Goddess, you look like a mess,” Oswald grumbled.

“My wyvern was shot down while we were crossing the throat. I’ve been on foot most of the way to Deirdru. That might have something to do with it.” As Khalid started to speak, Oswald’s expression only grew darker.

“Seems that no one over there ever taught you any respect. And that accent is far too thick. We’ll have to get a tutor for that long before we can announce you as heir.” The Duke ran a hand through his hair. “Do you even have any proof that you’re my grandson?”

“My mother says I have the Crest of Riegan,” Khalid said. Crests were still a confusing topic for him, but he knew they were a huge deal to Fodlan nobility. Sure enough, Oswald’s eyes widened.

“And you’ll agree to let us test that?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Oswald hummed in thought. “What did you say your name was?”

“Khalid Rais Quadir,” he said.

Oswald sucked in a breath. “That’s not going to cut it. We’re going to have to change that entirely.” 

Khalid raised his eyebrows. “There’s something wrong with my name?” Of course, he knew exactly what was “wrong” with his name. But he wanted to hear how the Duke phrased his complaint.

“It’s violently Almyran. If the Gonerils or the Gloucesters find out that you’re Almyran there’s no way they won’t try to throw us out.”

“Are we going to find a way to change my skin tone, too?” he asked, half-playfully. Honestly, though, he wouldn’t be surprised if this man tried it.

“I don’t think we could pull that off. We’ll find some other excuse. You spend too much time in the sun or something.” He paused for a moment. “Claude. That’s going to be your name. Claude von Riegan.”

“Claude von Riegan.” He tried the name on his tongue. It wasn’t awful.

“Yes, that’ll do. From now on, you are Claude. I don’t want to hear the name Khalid under this roof. Or any other, for that matter. Am I clear?”

“Understood.” Khalid - Claude - had his work cut out for him if he was going to be this piece of work’s heir.

-  
5.

The Officer’s Academy was… interesting, to say the least.

Thanks to the rigorous tutoring of his grandfather’s staff, Claude was very well-versed in Fodlan’s politics by the time he found himself there, and he had almost no accent to speak of. Most of the students in his class had accepted that he was some distant cousin to the late previous heir, although some - namely, one Lorenz Hellman Gloucester - seemed determined to learn his secrets. But Claude was well-versed in rhetoric. They wouldn’t get anything from him that he didn’t give up willingly.

So he slipped into a routine, spending hours each day training his bow skills (he wanted badly to ride the wyverns, but the professor insisted he wasn’t ready for it yet) and taking meals with whoever caught his eye in the dining hall. After all, there were plenty of others at the Academy with secrets of their own, secrets Claude hoped to pry from them over the course of the year.

Surprisingly, his first real friend at the Academy wasn’t one of his targets - in a bit of dramatic irony, it was Hilda Valentine Goneril, the girl whose family regularly engaged in life-and-death combat with his own back home.

Hilda was fierce, funny, and surprisingly intelligent. Unfortunately, she was also lazy as sin, and preferred to apply her wit to manipulating those around her. Claude knew he didn’t have much room to judge. His classmates - again, mostly Lorenz - bemoaned the fact that he spent his free time cooking up schemes and poisons rather than rescuing kittens from trees or whatever the hell else he was supposed to do as a noble. 

Hilda couldn’t care less what he did with his spare time, and she didn’t seem very interested in prying into his past either. So the two began to meet up in each other’s rooms to work on homework (rarely) and trade rumors about the other students (much more common). 

On this particular day, they were actually attempting to be productive. Claude was writing notes in his tactics book while Hilda scribbled away at something on his desk.

“Whatcha writing there?” he asked, looking up from his book.

“Ugh, I’m trying to write a letter back to my brother. But his last letter was so boring, I don’t even know what to say about it! He just went on and on about some kind of grand victory at Fodlan’s Throat.”

“Oh yeah?” Claude tried not to show too much interest in the border conflict. “Maybe I can help. What was the victory about?”

“Apparently one of our newer generals actually killed one of the Almyran princes. My brother says that will probably keep them off the border for at least a month.”

Claude’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. He took a few deep breaths before asking his next question. “Did he say which prince?”

“Um, I think Khalid? Or maybe Faris. I dunno. I know all the Almyran royalty’s names, but I can never remember which one is which. It all sounds the same to me.”

Perhaps Holst’s men had killed some other poor Almyran who they’d mistaken for him. It was entirely possible that none of his brothers had died. Claude tried to soothe himself with these thoughts as Hilda scanned the letter again.

It occurred to him, through the fear pounding in his chest, that this was the first time he’d heard his name said in two years.

“Here it is. It was Rashad. I think that’s the oldest one?”

Claude’s heart sank. He wasn’t necessarily surprised - Rashad was always one to pick fights he shouldn’t, even by Almyran standards - but he still felt grief rising in him at the thought that he’d never get to spar with his brother again. He hadn’t been the closest by any means, but they were still family. Not long before Claude had left for Fodlan, Rashad had given him a pretty expensive axe as a present for finally beating him in a fight. He’d tried to take it with him when he left, but he lost it with a lot of his other supplies when his wyvern had been shot down at the throat.

“I dunno, just congratulate him, I guess. Make it all flowery, Holst’ll love that. Anyway, Hilda, it’s getting late. I should get back to my dorm.”

Hilda didn’t seem to catch on to his hurried departure. She just thanked him and wished him a good night as he snatched up his book and left the room. He felt his tears dangerously close to spilling as he closed her door, and he practically ran to his own room before any could fall.

That night, for the first time in years, he prayed to the gods he didn’t believe in.

-

+1

Politics were a bitch.

After, say, winning the war against the Empire, you’d think Claude would get to relax and enjoy himself. But no. Instead, he was helping Byleth and Dimitri work out an infrastructure for the new united Fodlan under the knowledge that as soon as that was done, he’d be returning to Almyra to take the throne.

A few months back, he’d received a letter from his father - the first communication from him since he’d left Almyra eight years ago. The news was as exciting as it was devastating. His father had lost a leg in a bad fight and didn’t think himself fit to lead any longer. Luay had run off with a merchant from the Alliance, Rashad was long dead, and Faris was apparently suffering from nervous fits and refused to take the throne. Claude was to become the new King of Almyra. He’d told Byleth and most of his old classmates the news, but had asked them not to break it to Dimitri yet.

Claude and Dimitri had been flirting for some time when Edelgard declared war and sent everyone’s lives into turmoil. Claude, like everyone else, had thought him dead for years afterward. When he saw him at the Battle of Gronder, it was a shock to the system. The darkness that his eyes hinted at back in the day had completely consumed him, and he slashed at his and Edelgard’s troops alike. Claude had quickly realized that while Dimitri may not be dead, the Dimitri he had once known was.

But that belief was soon challenged as well, when Dimitri had taken back Fhirdiad and come to the rescue at Deirdre. He still wasn’t the Dimitri from the Academy, but it was clear that something had shaken the veil from his mind. Their flirting started back up before the war had even ended, and now, three months later, they were essentially in a relationship.

And in all that time, he hadn’t explained his history to Dimitri at all.

He didn’t feel like getting into it around the others, knowing he had a tendency to overshare around Dimitri, so he took the opportunity to fill him in one night as they were settling in for bed.

“Dimitri?” he began. The other man looked up at him as he pulled his nightshirt on. “Something’s happened.” He quickly realized his mistake when Dimitri’s eyes grew wide, and amended with, “No one’s dead!”

“Oh, good. Goddess, Claude, you scared me for a moment.” Dimitri sat down on the bed and patted the seat beside him. “Go ahead. What do you need to tell me?”

Claude sighed and sat down beside him. “Well… I think this might be obvious by now, but I’m not from Fodlan.”

Dimitri chuckled at that. “Yes, that much is rather obvious.”

“My mother’s from the Alliance. Tiana von Riegan, if that name means anything to you. That’s where I got my Crest. And my father… he’s Almyran. The king of Almyra, to be exact.”

Dimitri looked taken aback. “I suspected you may be Almyran, but I had no idea you were royalty.”

He nodded. “I am. I’m the youngest, which I thought meant I wouldn’t inherit the throne, but… all of my brothers have been incapacitated, in one way or another, and my father wants me to come take his place.”

Dimitri could only stare for a few moments as he processed the information. “Oh. So you’re…”

“Leaving for Almyra at the end of the month, yes.” He searched Dimitri’s face for a reaction.

“Goddess, Claude, that’s… a lot to take in.”

“I know.”

“So does that mean… you and I…”

“I don’t know,” he responded truthfully. “It would be really hard to maintain a relationship from across the border.”

“R-right,” Dimitri said with a frown.

Claude places his hand atop Dimitri’s. “But we don’t have to talk about that tonight. I just wanted to let you know. You can take a few days to process and then we can talk it out.”

Dimitri nodded. “That seems like the best solution.”

“But if you have any other questions, I’m happy to answer them.”

Dimitri thought for a moment. “I do, actually… is Claude your real name? I remember you saying something cryptic to Balthus when he first asked for your name…”

Claude laughed. “You actually remember that?”

“Well, I’ll admit, I spent much more time... observing you than was necessary at that point.” Dimitri looked away at that, obviously embarrassed.

“Aw, someone had a crush! But to answer your question, no. It’s not.”

“Then, may I ask… what is your real name?” He turned to Claude once more and tilted his head.

He took a deep breath. “It’s Khalid.” 

“Khalid?” Dimitri asked, and stars above, he even pronounced it right.

Claude nodded. “Khalid Rais Quadir.”

Memories flooded to his mind of the last time he’d said that name, when it had been stripped away from him. But he trusted Dimitri. And he was going to have to get used to hearing it again pretty soon.

“Khalid,” Dimitri repeated. “It’s a beautiful name. Does it mean something?”

“Eternal.”

“Eternal. Khalid.” He said it like a mantra. “I think it suits you even better than Claude.”

“What, because I look Almyran?” he joked.

“No. Because it’s beautiful, but - not in a flashy way. Or a superficial one. But it’s beautiful in a kind of deep way - I don’t quite know how to explain it. It’s like the way the moon reflects off dew at dusk. Something that we never take time to appreciate, like we do flowers, but that calms the very soul when we finally do.” Dimitri looked back at Claude, then down at the sheets. “It sounds dumb as I say it.”

“Not at all,” Claude said softly. “I think it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Dimitri looked back up and smiled before leaning towards Claude. They met in a kiss, gentle yet firm. After a few moments, Claude pulled away for long enough to beckon Dimitri to lay down beside him.

Khalid fell asleep in his lover’s arms and thought that he would be content to live in that moment for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished this fic!! I finished this really late at night, so I'm probably going to wake up and realize the last half is completely incoherent, but I'm posting this anyways. The minute I heard about Claude's name reveal I knew I wanted to write a fic.
> 
> I don't know much about Arabic names, so naming Claude's family was a bit of a challenge. I hope I did okay, and that I didn't offend anyone! I'd also like to note that my characterization of Almyra and its people is not meant to represent my views on any real-world people or countries. I used Arabic names because Almyra seems to be based on that culture, since both Khalid and Nader are Arabic, not to make a political statement.
> 
> Stay safe, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
